


Two for Tragedy

by Squid_Ink



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Forgiveness, Gen, Mother's Day, Nightwish - Freeform, Two for Tragedy - song, Wishmaster - album, oc child - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: A mother's love is a sacrifice. Even though she wasn't there, Maggie watched over her son Matt.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jack" Murdock/Margaret Murdock, Margaret Murdock & Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock & Karen Page, Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Comments: 17
Kudos: 34





	Two for Tragedy

_My fallen son, slumber in peace. A mother's love is a sacrifice. No sympathy, no eternity; one light for each undeserved tear. Beneath the candle bed, two souls with everything yet to be said…_ _—_ _Nightwish_

* * *

It didn't feel real. It wasn't real. How could she betray God in such a fashion? Forsaking her vows to be with a man that made his living fighting for money: that had to be a sin somewhere, right? People gambled on who would win such fights — gambling was a sin. The darkness pressed in around her, the tiny bedroom smelled of fresh linen and Jack's shampoo. The light on the baby monitor flashed green, but she didn't hear anything from the baby's room. Not that she would have reacted if her son cried. Jack had asked if there was something wrong with her earlier that day when she just sat there, letting Matthew cry and cry and cry until his little face was splotchy red with dried tears on his chubby cheeks. It had been two weeks since her milk dried up, since they had to resort to formula to feed him.

Jack had been doing most of it. Taking time off from boxing to take care of Matthew and her. That was the thing about Jack, he never complained. Said it was the Catholic in him. But Maggie knew. Maggie could see the disappointment in his eyes, the questions: what happened Maggie? What went wrong? We were so happy? How can I help? Tell me what to do to fix this? It was the questions that he never voiced that ate away at her soul. Why did she betray God? A sigh escaped her. Jack shifted in his sleep, the arm he had around her waist pulled her closer to him and he nuzzled her neck. She watched her husband sleep, the lines on his face relaxed, the scars from fights muted in the darkness. He was a handsome man, and she loved him so much it hurt. Maybe she should go to the doctor and tell the doctor about her problems. Jack had told her to do so, gently encouraging her to find a way to get better.

A shrill cry broke through on the baby monitor; her entire body stiffened, heart quickening as she glanced at the device like it was the work of Satan. Matthew was crying. Matthew needed her. A part of her told her to get up, go to her son, find out what he needed. Instead she laid there, listening to her son cry through the baby monitor. Shut up, shut up, shut up! Maggie closed her eyes; Jack stirred, pushing himself up onto a sitting position.

"Matty's awake?" he said, voice thick with sleep. "You gonna go get him?" he asked, but she didn't say anything, just stared at the darkness, tears stinging her eyes. Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair before he got out of bed and padded across the hall to the baby's room. She heard him through the baby monitor, shushing Matthew as he ran through the mental checklist of what could cause their son distress. After a while, she could hear Jack singing softly to Matthew; Jack didn't come back to bed.

The morning didn't promise a better day. Instead it rained. Jack was asleep on the couch, a blanket thrown over his lower body, Matthew in a onesie slept on his chest, his baby fine brown hair sticking up in all directions, chubby cheeks a healthy shade of pink, and his little thumb stuck in his mouth. His foot twitched in his sleep and Jack put his large hand on Matthew's tiny back, his thumb rubbing soothing strokes along the baby's small bird fragile shoulder. Jack opened his eyes. "Hey," he whispered, a sad smile on his lips. "Did you sleep?"

"No," she whispered and went into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. Only, she stared at the empty coffee pot, wondering why she even bothered. She wasn't a wife; she wasn't a mother. She was a betrayer to God. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself through the motions, relaxing slightly when the coffee machine gurgled, and the black liquid began to trickle into the pot. She walked back into the living room, the tv on a low hum with the morning news playing. Jack wasn't really watching as he flipped through the channels every few minutes. He ran the pad of his thumb along the back of Matthew's head. "I made some coffee," she said.

"Okay." She looked at Matthew. It didn't feel like a month ago they were laughing and taking a family photo. A photo that should have been the first in a long line of family photos. Now, instead of happiness, just looking at her son made her skin crawl. What happened? Why did everything change? They were so happy. "Maggie?" Jack asked, looking at her, concern in his brown eyes. "You okay?"

Wiping away her tears, she forced a smile. "I think the coffee's done. I'll get you a cup," she said, retreating back to the kitchen and pouring Jack a cup of coffee. She set it on the coffee table in front of the couch and sat down in the recliner to stare at the wall. Jack didn't touch his coffee.

"They're coming today," he said, not looking at her. She tilted her head. "The priest and the Mother Superior." The way Jack said that word made her heart heavy. A dying part of her wanted to scream and protest this, wanted to convince Jack she could turn everything around, go back to the happy mother and loving wife she used to be. The pregnant silence between them informed her that they both knew it was a lie. This was the end of their marriage, the end of that idyllic dream of being a family. Maggie hung her head, staring at her hands. The wedding ring on her finger wasn't fancy. Jack didn't have much in the way of money. Boxing only paid well if you won. Still, he managed to scrape together enough money to get her a ring with one small diamond set in a simple band of gold. It was something after all.

"Oh." She brushed the ring with her thumb. There was nothing to say. Jack licked his lips and shifted into a sitting position. Matthew made a soft whimper, protesting being moved. Jack shushed him, pressing a fond kissed against his temple. Maggie sighed, there was nothing left to say. She watched Jack walk towards the baby's room. Later that morning Father Lantom and the Mother Superior came to collect her. It was strange, the two of them coming through the door in fluttering black clothes, like ravens seeking the souls of the dead. Father Lantom's fingers curled around her bicep, coaxing her gently to her feet and she looked over at Jack. He stood there holding Matthew; her son wrapped in his baby blanket. The silence hung heavy between them, everything she wanted to say to him trapped behind her teeth.

She looked away, Matthew's sharp sudden cry piercing her heart. The tears pricking her eyes unbidden. Matthew, she prayed, as she followed Father Lantom and the Mother Superior down the apartment building's hall. Matthew, please understand why I had to do this and one day… please, please Matthew, forgive me.

* * *

There was a little tv in the lounge at the church where they held meetings. It was on mute, the young twenty-something field reporter talking into the camera, the words popping up on the bottom of the screen. A thirty-five-year-old man found dead in an alley. The camera showed a picture of a blind boy sobbing against the man's chest. The phone was pressed to Maggie's ear. Jack's voice on the recording: _I'm about to go be me._ Jack what the hell have you done? _Matt's a good kid. He… he's gonna need you after this._ Maggie closed her eyes, the image of the boy — her son, Matthew — crying on Jack's chest burned itself into her memory.

The last time she saw Jack was when Matthew had been a few months old. The look of disappointment on Jack's face still haunted her whenever she closed her eyes. At one point — maybe when she first felt Matthew kick inside her — there had been this idyllic wedded bliss. Jack was a good man, a good husband. He even stopped boxing and switched to coaching for a little bit. It didn't work out, but he tried. He was excited to be a father and talked of big dreams and grandiose plans for their little budding family. There was love and when Matthew was born, Jack couldn't stop marveling at the tiny baby in his arms. And for a while after that, they were happy. She still had their first family photo. Jack had pulled out a tattered old suit he still somehow fit into, she wore a nice dressed and they wiggled Matthew into something sophisticated and cute, his fluffy brown hair sticking up as if she brushed his hair with a balloon. Jack had licked his palm to try and smooth it down before the photo. It almost worked.

She kept the photo in a locket around her neck, beneath the crucifix she wore.

The answering machine on the phone beeped again, asking her if she wanted to delete the message or replay it. She hit the button and the message began to replay again. Jack's telling her again that he was going to do something stupid. _Just once I want Matty to hear people cheer for his old man. Just once._ Jack, you damn fool. Didn't he realize that Matthew needed him — that their son was more important than his foolish pride?

Clearly, he didn't, and she wondered where that left her. She tried to be a good mother. Tried to be the mother Matthew deserved and the wife Jack wanted. But she couldn't. She felt she betrayed God, and this was how he was going to punish her. In hindsight, she should have listened to Jack and talked to the doctor about it. Instead, she ran away to the Church. Abandoning the man she loved and their child to an uncertain future.

The tv switched back to the news reporter now standing beside the officer. The text for her question appeared on screen, along with the officer's answer. A mugging gone wrong — Maggie snorted in disgust; Jack wouldn't be killed by a simple mugging. — that was the reason they were saying. The reporter asked about what will happen to the little boy and the officer just shrugged, saying he was probably gonna end up in the State's care if no family comes forward to take him into custody. _He's gonna need you after this._

She renounced her family, married herself to God, her children became all those that needed to be succored in the arms of the church. There was no way she could continue to be a nun and raise Matthew. At least not openly. The message ended again, the machine asking if she wanted to delete the message or have it repeated it. She hung up the phone, grabbed her coat and left.

When she got to Jack's rundown apartment, a clean-shaven cop answered the door. The brass of his police badge shown on his chest, the navy shirt he wore was pressed with the creases standing out military rigid. Even his hair was cut in a military style. "Sister," he said, "what can I do for you?"

Maggie took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and focused all the authority of the Church and the Mother Superior into her being. "I'm here to see the boy," she said. "I'll be taking him to St. Agnes." It was better than being a ward of the State. She could be near Matthew, help him grow up right. Be there for him as Jack had wished — well not exactly. She knew Jack had hoped she'd renounce her vows, settle down into some civilian life and raise Matthew.

In her heart, she knew she couldn't do that. This was the best compromise she could home up with on such short notice. Damn you Jack. Damn you and your stubborn Murdock pride. Not for the first time she wished she had listened to her sisters and left the stuffy arena and never met Jack. But wishes were regrets one was too cowardly to face. "Oh" — the officer scratched his forehead — "this way." He let her into the apartment. It smelled a bit moldy, with dishes needing to be done. Books in braille sat open on the kitchen table besides a little black metal box. The tv was still on, the sports reporter speaking about the tragedy that befell Battlin' Jack Murdock after his surprising victory. Pictures lined the wall of Jack and Matthew. The two of them at some river upstate, holding a trout. Another at Coney Island, enjoying the summer sun and festivities. School pictures of Matthew. Matthew had her eyes, she realized, and Jack's strong jaw. Jack had taken down that one family photo; she clutched the locket beneath her habit, swallowing tightly. Did Jack ever tell Matthew about her? What did Matthew think happened to his mother? Here I am cursing Jack for his pride, when I can't even face my own. She closed her eyes. "Sister?" the officer said.

"Right," she said, turning her back on the living room and entering Jack's bedroom. The bed was unmade, and it was dark, the only light coming from the streetlights. The officer opened the closet door and tugged the string for the light. On the floor, fast asleep and still in his clothes, was her son. Matthew had Jack's old jacket thrown over him like a blanket, Jack's duffle bag for a pillow. The sight broke her heart. Kneeling, she gently put her hand on his shoulder. "Matthew," she said, her voice gentle. "Matthew, wake up."

The boy jerked, his body trembling as he lifted his head, turning his head about to try and pinpoint where her voice was coming from. "H-Hello? Hello? Who's there? Who are you? Where's my dad?" Matthew asked, his voice shaky with fear. Maggie closed her eyes and took his hand. "Dad?"

"I'm Sister Maggie," she said, her voice soft, she watched as Matthew turned his head to face her. Those useless eyes of his rolling about his head, but he had an ear cocked towards her. "I'm a nun at Clinton Church. I help run the Orphanage of St. Agnes. I'm going to take you there with me."

"O-Okay…" he swallowed thickly. "Is… Will my dad know I'm there?" he asked. She glanced at the officer, who shrugged helplessly. "He'll probably be worried if he comes home and I'm not here."

It broke her heart, knowing Matthew was trying to convince himself Jack would just magically show up. As if nothing happened. Denial was the first stage of grief. It was also the hardest stage, in her opinion. Sighing, she shifted, sitting down next to the boy and pulled him into her arms, running her fingers through his hair. Comfort, she had given comfort to grieving people plenty of times. Still, it stirred some deep maternal instinct in her. She tried to rationalize it, trying to convince herself that it was the maternal instinct she felt for all of God's children. Matthew was just another one of God's children that had slipped through the cracks, the maternal instinct she felt towards him had nothing to do with him actually being her own son. "Your father is with our Lord Father now," she said, "he spoke about the bible, right?"

Matthew swallowed, pressing himself closer to her, ear against her bosom. "Yeah," he said. "He did. Sometimes we went to church. Not often. Dad was always real busy, but he always read a little bit from the bible."

Maggie smiled. At least Jack tried to instill some religion into Matthew's life. "And so, you know, that when a good person dies, they go to Heaven." She ran her fingers through Matthew's hair, it still felt baby soft to her. There was still that milky newness she remembered from the last time she held her son. Those days felt like a lifetime ago. "To be with our Lord Father and his son Jesus Christ, the Savior."

Matthew swallowed thickly. "I know," he said, a tremor in his voice, "but why did he have to go? God has a lot of people in Heaven already. Why did he need my dad?"

Maggie rocked him, pressing her nose into his hair. How did she explain to a child the workings of God or the workings of evil malicious men? How did she tell Matthew that sometimes there was no reason behind death or why good fathers had to die for their foolish pride? "I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know Matthew. The Lord works in mysterious ways and not all of it makes sense to us now, but it will in time."

"You promise?" he asked. Maggie swallowed. How could she promise something like that to a child? How could Jack's death eventually have a reason behind beyond the pettiness of men and their pride?

"I promise," she said, knowing that it would have to do for now. The grieving needed hope that something good could come out of a tragedy. I won't ever leave you again, Matthew. "I promise."

* * *

The glum look on Matthew's face reminded her of when that strange aggravating man Stick left. Broken and hopeless, the same way Matthew looked the night Jack died like he was a puppy kicked to the curb. Unwanted, discarded, abandoned. It had been hard in the intervening years. When Matthew was first at the orphanage, she spent many nights with him, holding his hand, singing to him, running her fingers through his hair, allowing herself to be the mother she never got to be. In the end, Matthew pulled away from her. Whether it was because she didn't go to him one night or Stick drove a wedge between them, she didn't know. In her heart, she knew it was because she didn't go to Matthew one night and instead chose to stay with a feverish little girl instead. In her head mind though, she blamed Stick. Blaming Stick was easier in anyway.

The man had confronted her after she tried to get Sister Hayley to not withdraw all the money in Matthew's account that Jack had put in there. She knew Jack intended that money to go for Matthew's schooling and upkeep. It was Matthew's money. The last gift his father ever gave him.

"And are you his mother?" Stick had asked her. The color had rose to her cheeks; she pinched her lips and clasped her hands in front of her, trying to imitate the look of Mother Superior. "Exactly. Since he ain't got no mother, I'm doing what is best for him. And no nun that doesn't know jackshit is gonna stop me."

"I beg your pardon!" she remembered saying. "I don't see how teaching a blind boy how to fight is the best thing for him. What Matthew needs is—"

"What Matt _needs_ is for you to get your holier than thou nose out of his life." Stick had given her a condescending little smirk. "Matt's special. I know what's best for him."

You don't. You don't know the first thing about that boy. You don't know how he cries for his father at night. How he screams about everything being too loud. Maggie swallowed her pride. "Do you plan to adopt him?" she had asked. Stick laughed, shuffling passed her, his walking stick tap-tapping a path for him, though she suspected he didn't really need it. In the end, Stick didn't adopt Matthew, and she could see how crush her son was. As much as she wanted to wrap him up in her arms and promise him that some good family would come to him soon, she knew she couldn't. Matthew couldn't have any more of her attention than any other child. It was wrong to play favorites, even if the child was her natural born son. She gave him up when she returned to her true calling.

Didn't mean she was immune to the hurt. Watching him grow up from afar. Watching him get bullied by the older children only to fight back. The other children soon learn to give Matthew a wide berth, whispering weirdo and freak beneath their breaths as if he couldn't hear. The way Matthew tensed his shoulders around them as he passed, their giggles audible, she knew he heard, and she knew how awful those words cut. The ache in her chest grew as she watched Matthew turn cold and mean, using his wits to insult the other children and isolating himself further. Paul had cautioned her about this, heavily advised her to let Matthew become a ward of the State. Her mother-in-law had once told her that Murdock boys had the devil in them; she didn't believe it at the time, but after Jack's death she understood that it wasn't the devil per se, but rather his sin of pride, that they had. She figured she had it too, for she refused to let Matthew get lost within the convoluted state-run foster system.

Now Matthew was eighteen, newly graduated from high school: top of his class, 4.0 GPA. What mother wouldn't be proud of him. Expect, he didn't want her recognition, he wanted Jack's. Still, she felt that someone had to celebrate his achievement. He was going off to college in the fall, she'll never see him again. "I brought a cupcake," she said, setting the little plate with the chocolate cupcake in front of him. The words she wanted to say — I'm so proud of you Matthew, your father and I are so proud — got stuck in her throat and instead she said: "We are all very proud of you Matthew. Columbia is an excellent school. A full scholarship as well. I'm sure your father would be proud."

Matthew picked up the cupcake, pushing the dollop of chocolate icing off with his finger and tugging the paper cup off. A sad smile graced his lips. "Yeah," he said, "he would be. I'm not going to end up an uneducated pug like him." Matthew bit into the cupcake, taking his black lensed glasses off. When he was born, she remembered Jack saying Matthew had her eyes. Maggie hated to disagree, but she saw so much of Jack in her son's face. The nose, the lips, the jaw, the chin. Even his eyes reminded her of Jack. Matthew was built like a fighter, just like his father.

"Well," she said, smoothing the front of her habit before pulling out a chair to sit with him. "I'm sure he would have been proud with whatever you chose to do with your life" — she smiled a little — "as any parent would."

Matthew licked his fingers. "He wanted me to get an education. Didn't want me to use my fists to make a living." Maggie had to smile at that. Jack was a good father, pushing Matthew to be better than what he was. "Did you know him?" Matthew turned his head towards her. It was a bit uncanny how he could know exactly where she was sitting, fixing her with that sightless stare of his. "My dad?"

Paul had also encouraged her to tell Matthew the truth, that she was his mother. It would explain why she took such an interest in him. Why she doted on him more than the other children. Matthew had just given her the perfect opening to lay the whole sordid mess bare, for him to judge beneath the light of God. Instead, she did what she had been doing for eighteen years, biting her tongue and lying through her teeth. "Not well. He would come to church now and then; I would sit and pray with him from time to time. Why?"

Matthew shrugged, licking the chocolate crumbs from his lips as he set the cupcake wrapper on the plate. "I wondered if you knew my mother," he said. He rested his elbows on his knees, hands between his legs and clasped together. "My dad told me she died giving birth to me. I don't remember any pictures of her" — a sad laugh escaped him — "makes sense though. He probably didn't want to hate me for killing his wife. Wanted to love me like a father should and not hate me as a grieving husband."

Maggie felt her blood run cold in her veins. It took a considerable amount of willpower not to grab for the little locket around her neck. Good God, Jack! Did you really tell our son that I was dead? Maggie closed her eyes. "I knew her," she said, the lie coming easily to her lips. Maybe she had a bit of the devil in her too. She was a Murdock by marriage after all. "She was a wonderful woman with a good heart and a kind smile. I see her smile in yours, and you have her eyes — the color at least. The shape belongs to your father. I'm sure if she had lived, she would have loved you very much." The locket bit into her hand as she squeezed it tight, the metal rigid beneath her clothes and palm. I love you Matthew. I love you and I'm so sorry I abandoned you. Please, can you ever forgive me?

"I miss him, Sister," he whispered. Maggie swallowed her tears and stood up, walking over to Matthew and wrapping her arms around him. He didn't shy away, instead he buried his face into her bosom and cried. "I miss him, I miss him."

Maggie ran her finger through his hair, pressing her cheek to his head. I miss him too, Matthew. "I know, Matthew, I know."

* * *

It was impossible to not have heard about the incident at Midland Circle. The majority of the people of Hell's Kitchen couldn't really believe that something Avengers-esque had happened right in their own backyard. Sure, everyone remembers the Incident. The aliens pouring from the wormhole, the Avengers fighting and Captain Marvel shooting through the skies like a fallen star (or an angel of God) to catch Iron Man as he fell from the closing wormhole. Whatever the Mayor of New York would say about it, didn't assuage the fact that the world felt more dangerous now with men in suits of iron and magical hammers. Maggie also knew something related to Midland Circle and Matthew was afoot when she caught several of the younger sisters huddled together whispering in hushed voices about their newest guest in the infirmary. "The Lord doesn't like those who spread gossip," she said, looking down her nose at the younger women. They crossed themselves.

"We were just discussing—"

"Don't tell her Rebecca! Father Lantom told us not to," Sister Mary hissed. Sister Rebecca looked at her feet, guilty. Maggie huffed out a breath. Why was Paul telling the younger sisters to keep secrets from her? What was going on that was so important she be kept out of the loop. Ignoring the protests of the younger sisters, she made her way to the infirmary, going there herself was the only sure-fire way of figuring out what was going on.

The infirmary smelled of vomit, wine, body order and disinfectant. Some of the older sisters were clustered around a bed, Paul was with them. "Paul," she said, a tight smile on her lips. "A word." The look that Paul gave her reminded her of a guilty dog. Still, he walked over and sighed, adjusting his collar. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Elisabeth wanted to get you, but I thought it best to hold off until we knew for sure," Paul said. She frowned. "Maggie," he said her name as if that would enlighten her on everything going on. One of the sisters moved, a bowl of bloody water in hand and she saw the secret they were trying to keep from her: Matthew.

Her son lay on the bed, bloodied, broken, more dead than alive. A strange sound escaped her throat, and she rushed to her boy's side, her hand finding the locket beneath her habit. She lost Jack already, she couldn't lose Matthew. "Matthew," she whispered, smoothing her hair, and watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. "Oh, my poor boy. My poor, poor boy." She turned to Paul, failing to keep the scowl from her face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to make sure he'll live, he's in God's hands now. I mean, look at him! Some construction workers said they found him half dead on the bank of the Hudson," Paul said, running his hand through his sparse hair. "I didn't want… you gave him up, Maggie."

Those words hurt. The truth always tended to hurt. "You still should have gotten me." She crossed herself and then took Matthew's hand. Her son was truly blessed by God or cursed by Satan to have survived whatever happened to him. Gently, she smoothed his hair, watching for any sign of life. In the end, she set about tending him with the other nuns. Washing him, changing his bandages, sitting by his bedside. It reminded her of when he was boy. To help coax him back, she would whisper to him softly, telling him stories about his father, about the fond memories she had of him when he was at the orphanage. When it was just her and Matthew in the infirmary, she would sing to him. An old lullaby Jack taught her that he claimed had been passed down in his family since before the family left Ireland during the Great Famine. Whenever she sang it, she could still hear Jack's throaty baritone, his lips brushing against her belly as he sang about fairies and rolling green hills and white capped waves throwing themselves against iron grey sea cliffs. She hoped Jack sang it to Matthew and hoped somewhere deep down it would bring Matthew back to her.

Matthew recovered. It was a slow process — healing needed time and patients, neither of which Matthew had. As soon as he got his hearing back and his equilibrium under control, he began to push his body, urging weakened muscles back into proper form. Still, he over did it. It reminded her of the one-time Jack was going up for a championship belt, how he trained and trained and trained, working his body to exhaustion. He kept promising her this will be it, the fight that will make his career and a big-league scout would notice him and he'll be fighting in Vegas this time next year. He lost the semi-final match. After she finished patching him up that night, she didn't see him until the next morning, smelling of cheap booze. He held her, kissing her neck, nuzzling her hair and apologizing for being a failure. She told him it didn't matter; he was still a winner in her eyes. Ever since that fight, she noticed a lingering darkness in Jack's eyes. Sometimes he would come home in the wee hours of the morning smelling of booze, swaying on his feet. Those days she prayed feverishly for Jack to find something to help him out of this dark pit of despair. Ironically, fatherhood seemed to have done it.

Now she was watching Matthew walk down that same road. Shunning his friends and becoming increasingly more reckless. Ranting and raving as he clutched at his bleeding wound from his fight with the false Daredevil. Jack had ranted and raved after he lost the semi-finals, teenage boys had ranted and raved. Maggie had an immunity to it by this point, knowing it was better to let Matthew get it out of his system. Though the more he railed against the plight he was in, blamed it all on God being a cruel bastard for forcing him into crucible after crucible, the more he became convinced that the only way to stop this madness was to kill Wilson Fisk, the more she worried for him.

So, she turned to God for guidance. "What am I going to do Lord?" she whispered, staring up at the gilded crucifix, the crown of thorns morphing into heavenly rays of light. "How can I help Matthew find the right path, when he's so convince the devil is inside him?"

"Maggie." Paul came out of the shadows, black robes fluttering. "May I join you?" he asked, taking a seat next to her on the pew. "Trying to find answers?" he asked.

"Guidance would be a better word," she said, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "I worry about him." Paul nodded. "There is too much of his father in him. Headstrong and stubborn and a born fighter." She chuckled, remembering how Jack joked Matthew was using her bladder as a punching bag when she was pregnant. If only she could rewind the clock and go back to those days.

"That he is," Paul said, "that he is." She watched Paul cross himself, folding his hands in prayer. "You need to tell him." Maggie swallowed, the painful secret they succored between them coming to light. "It's not my place to do so Maggie and you know it. He _needs_ to know the truth."

"I…" she swallowed. "I can't Paul." She looked at her friend. "I can't tell him. I can't let him find out. If he knew… Dear Lord, if he knew — I fear I would lose him forever." The mere thought of losing her son now, when they were finally bonding — she and Matthew will never have the parent-child relationship but at least they'll have _some_ relationship. At this point it was all she could ask for.

"You gave him up, Maggie. This… attachment is—"

"Don't," she hissed. "Don't you dare. Seeing what life had done to him… what I could've prevented if things had been different… I'll take that guilt to St. Peter." She crossed herself, tugging the locket free and opening it. The family photo. When they were all together and life seemed to be perfect. Sighing, she closed it, clasping the precious keepsake in her hands and kissing the knuckles of her thumbs. "I can't tell him."

Paul sighed. "Maybe Maggie," he said, "if you tell him you will only bring him closer." He offered her a reassuring smile. "Good night Sister, may the Lord keep you."

"Good night Father, may the Lord keep you as well," she said, watching Paul walk back into the shadows. Maggie sighed, opening the lock again and staring at the picture. She traced the faded image of Jack's face, remembering his smile and how he laughed when Matthew began to cry once he got tired of holding still for the photographer. They had walked home in the summer sunshine, Jack loudly telling Matthew what a good fighter he'll make one day. She remembered smiling, snug against Jack's side and happy with her little family.

* * *

In the end it didn't really matter how Matthew found out. It didn't really matter that Paul ended up telling him the truth. It didn't matter that she confessed her deepest regret to a tearful frightened Karen. Though it cost Paul his life in the end, it seemed to have worked out according to God's plan. Fisk was caught, Matthew with rebuilding his friendships with Karen and Foggy and he would come to her whenever he went out for patching up and to talk. He rarely called her sister anymore. It was just Maggie, and on rare occasions _mother_. At first their conversations centered around his work as a lawyer and as Daredevil. They began to shift to Jack and she told him how much he was like his father. Gradually, Karen became all he talked about.

Maggie liked Karen. She had grit and guts and had enough tact to get Matthew to shut up and listen when he needed it. Karen had her own demons and Maggie felt that connected her and Matthew together. Plus, Karen brought the good in her son out. What mother couldn't ask for more. When Matthew married Karen, in a small private ceremony at Clinton Church, it was the happiest day of her life. If only Jack had gotten a chance to see this moment, to see how their son grew up.

It was a cold snowy day in December and Maggie had gone through the storage, pulling out the last few things she had that belonged to Jack. He had kept the family photo. It would be her Christmas gift to Matthew. Along with a few of the trophies Jack had managed to win. The church was empty save for a few people that sat in the back pews. Maggie heard the click-clack of Matt's cane before she even saw them. Matthew wore a thick woolen coat, snow dusting his hair. The winter cold had pinched his nose and cheeks pink and he was grinning at something that Karen had said. Maggie covered her mouth at the sight of her daughter-in-law.

Karen wore a woolen caught; her heavy corduroy brushed the woolen tops of her booties. Her hand was resting on her round belly. The last time Maggie saw Karen, the woman had been slender and a little on the tall side, shining like the Virgin in her white wedding dress. Tears stung Maggie's eyes as she watched the couple walk towards her. Nobody but God would witness it — she trotted up to her son and his wife and embraced them both. "Merry Christmas," she whispered, smiling as her hands fell to Karen's belly. The baby moved beneath her palms. "When were you going to tell me Matthew?" she chided, giving Karen another hug before leading her to a pew.

"Sorry," he said, "been busy." He folded his cane and set it beside him before gathering Karen into his arms, one hand each on her belly — as if they didn't want their unborn child to be left out. "I was going to tell you," he said.

"We got you something," Karen said. "Matt said I should make sure it has a charitable use if you decide to not want it." Karen out a book tied with a red ribbon. Maggie laughed, wiping her tears. Bible stories simplified for children. "We figured you could read them to Jack or—"

"Jack?" Maggie frowned. Karen looked at Matt and for a moment, Maggie wondered if they could communicate silently, the way she heard some couples could do. Karen pressed a soft kiss beneath Matt's ear, and he let out a breath, holding her hand tightly.

"We're having a boy," Matthew said, "Karen and I decided to name him after my father." He sniffed, rubbing his nose. Whether it was because it was a bit runny from coming into the warmth of the church or because he was getting emotion, Maggie couldn't tell. Not that it mattered.

"He would have been honored," Maggie said. She could hear Jack's laugh, his sheer joy at having a grandchild. She held out the wrapped picture. "This is for you," she said, "I think you were meant to have it now."

Curious, Matthew took it and unwrapped it. A frown creased his brow as he ran his fingers over the simple frame and the glass. "Karen, what is it?" he asked, handing it to her. "Describe it to me."

"It's a photograph. A mother and father with a baby boy. The baby's hair is sticking up like it had been rubbed with a balloon," she said, a small giggle escaping. Maggie chuckled, watching Matthew smile, his head tilted back as if he was imagining the scene. "Who are these people?" Karen asked, gesturing at the photo. Maggie smiled, scooting closer to Karen.

"The woman is me," she said, touching the picture. Karen gasped. "The man his Matthew's father. And the baby is Matthew." She smiled at them. Karen's mouth turned into an O of surprise, her eyes lightening up. "It was our only family photo."

"Karen," Matthew said, his voice thick, "what… what does my father look like?" Matthew sat very still with his hands clasped together in a white knuckle grip. Karen set her hand on his arm. The tension eased from his body and a few tears tickled down his cheeks as Karen described the photograph in greater detail.

* * *

It wasn't until May that Maggie saw Matthew and Karen again. Matthew wore a t-shirt with cargo pants, his glasses on top his head. Karen wore a sunny yellow sun dress, diaper bag slung over her shoulder, with a smaller bag on her wrist, colorful tissue paper. In Matthew's arms was baby Jack, wearing a white onesie that said _Daddy's little fighter_ on it, a pair of boxing gloves beneath the lettering. Maggie had to laugh at that, knowing her Jack would've loved it. "Matthew," she said, walking up to the small family and hugging her son and Karen in turn. "Hello, Jackie. You look just like your father." The baby cooed, eyes light up in delight at the colorful stain glass window over the altar.

"Really? Foggy tells me he looks like Karen," Matthew said, bouncing his son a little higher onto his shoulder. "You like the lights?" Matthew asked, earning a squeal from the infant. It was a treat to hear her son laugh. There was a lightness to Matthew now that she never saw before. Maggie got a sense he was at peace with the duality of his personality: the man and the devil.

"We got you something," Karen said, handing over the little bag she had on her wrist. "I know Mother's Day isn't really something you got to experience but Matt… I convinced him that Mother's Day also meant honoring the women that had been instrumental in his life."

"You were there for me," he said, "when I had nobody. You came and brought me to St. Agnes after my dad died. You... you went to his funeral with me… you told me how proud you were when I graduated high school. You were there for me, not as my mother but…" Matthew shook his head. "You were there."

"Matthew." She didn't know what to say, uttering his name didn't seem to convey all that she was feeling. She took the bag and pulled out a small velvet box. Frowning, she opened it and noticed another locket it. It was shaped like a large heart, a cross etched in the center. Pulling it out, she worked her nail into the seam and popped it open. On one half of the heart was the photo of her family. She traced the image, smiling as the memories surfaced. The other side had a new photo. Matthew was sitting down, baby Jack on his knee and Karen standing next to him with her hands on her husband's shoulder. They were smiling and baby Jack looked at the camera with wide curious blue eyes.

"Do you like it?" Matthew asked, a hint of anxiety in his voice. Maggie choked back a sob and wrapped her arms around him. "Maggie?"

"Thank you, Matt," she whispered, "thank you… my son." Nobody could see her tears with her face pressed against her son's strong chest. Matt shifted, pressing his cheek against her head.

"I forgive you… Mother."

**Author's Note:**

> MCU (c) Marvel
> 
> I cried, it's okay if you cried too. 
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.


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